by P. R. Adams
“How long do you think before they’ll let you know?” She sounded calmer.
“A month or two. If this hit the news on Earth last month, it had to be something they were working on for some time. They’re pretty efficient with this sort of thing now. They know who’s going to be affected and they’ll get the word out to them quickly.”
“Efficient.” Molly snorted angrily. “Would an efficient group start building a place like this out just to cancel it?”
Efficiency, effectiveness, agility, responsiveness, synergies, value-add, leverage—the buzz words fell out of favor, shifted in meaning, even died off, but they never seemed to stay away forever and no one ever seemed to question their value or validity. “It’s not something we can control, so let’s not dwell on it, okay?”
Molly squeezed his hand. “I’ve been looking into the local university. If we get a loan approved, I can get into the PhD program. That’s a positive, right?”
“Yeah,” Rimes said, trying to kid himself and failing.
They hugged and Rimes kissed her on her lips, tasting the lingering hint of garlic and ginger, curiously different after growing in the local soil. He made his way around the table, scooped up Calvin, and called for Jared. They had a few hours of light left, and he wanted to get in some football with them. The moment felt so normal, and at the same time, it left him wondering how four hundred and thirty light years from home didn’t seem enough to explain how off everything felt to him at that moment.
49
27 January, 2168. Plymouth Colony.
* * *
It was ten kilometers from the northeastern edge of the temporary housing complex, around the athletic field and parade grounds, between the two fenced-in construction properties, and back to the shopping center. Rimes liked the route because it was full of dramatic shifts—cement, well-tended field, shin-high grass and scrub, broken clay, packed clay, broken clay again, then another stretch of cement.
A lot had changed in the month since the news had come about III Corps being shut down, but the uncertainty around their fate hadn’t changed.
Rimes made demands of his body, testing his knee, finding his limits in this new world that might or might not be home. He came to a stop a few meters past the shopping center entry, gasping, spent. Dawn was yet to come, and it was already a sweltering thirty degrees Celsius.
The rest of the way, he walked slowly, fighting through cramps and nagging fears. The cramps were gone by the time he reached the front of his housing unit; the fears were just starting to dig in.
He paused at the front door, checking the lock, then looking around, cursing beneath his breath. Scratches marked another failed attempt at forced entry, the third since they’d settled in. There was no post security to call yet, and there might never be. That left only the local law enforcement, which was a waste of time. When they even bothered to respond, they were every bit as rude and hostile as the rest of the Halifax natives, and they upset Molly.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe this just can’t work.
Shaking with fury and frustration, Rimes walked around the housing compound. He needed to get the anger out of his system before Molly sensed it and fed off of it. At the back of his mind, he hoped he might find the foiled intruder. No one would be there to stop him, and there wouldn’t be much even the locals could do about someone beating an intruder senseless.
Rimes rubbed his knee and limped to a nearby stone bench, ignoring the horrifically bright, oozing bird droppings that stained it. The droppings at least hid some of the more vicious graffiti some of the locals had left. He settled onto a relatively clean corner and took in their little slice of civilization surrounded by Cretacean forest. Stunted, gray, modular buildings anchored onto grayer concrete, all huddled together against encircling emerald for as far as the eye could see. Where visible, the tree trunks were so dark they appeared black.
Rimes sat for a few more minutes, enjoying the morning heat. It was going to be another harsh day. He planned to take what constituted his platoon out for reconnaissance training late in the afternoon. Is it right to put them through this when we don’t even know if we’re part of the future? Why couldn’t they bother to let us know what they plan for us? How can they expect us to just continue on without ever asking why?
A vibration brought Rimes back to the present. He checked his messages nervously and saw he’d received a video from the communications uplink. The message was heavily encrypted; even the metadata on who’d sent it was encrypted. Rimes ran his personal decryption against the message, muttering a disbelieving curse when it completed.
The sender’s name glowed: Walter J. Theroux.
Rimes licked his lips nervously and opened the message. Theroux appeared before him, typically cold and withdrawn. He sat in a well-appointed office, his face ghostly white, lit by several sources. He rubbed absently at the spot where the plasma discharge had struck his proxy.
“Captain Rimes, I hope this message reaches you in a timely manner and that you and your family are well. It’s taken a bit to track you down. Your government has gone silent of late. I’m sure you’re aware of that. These are interesting times.
“I wanted to first clear the air with you and explain my motivations aboard the Valdez. What I said about your command style was true. It was totally inappropriate for our situation and for what we’ll face in the future. The nature of war is changing, Captain. Even though my input was true, I have to admit there were motivations beyond simply calling you out to your commanders. And those motivations would be my second point.
“As you probably already know, I’m a very senior operator for the banking cartel. Over the past thirty years, I’ve successfully served individual banks, combined banking interests, and the cartel itself. I wield significant influence. Significant. After our short time together on that planet, I believe I have a good read of your capabilities and as a result, I have recommended you for a position on my staff.
“Your job would be a good deal like the one you hold today. The difference would be that you would operate for the cartel, not any government. You might be surprised how liberating that is. You would undergo training to bring your skills more in line with our missions, including mastering telepresence operations. Your pay would be, conservatively, ten times what you make today. The cartel takes care of its own.
“Your wife would have access to cartel educational institutions and would also be welcome into an organization within the cartel at some level. Your sons would have access to topflight schools and a future with the cartel once they reached adulthood, should they qualify.
“I can assure you this is a once in a lifetime offer. We don’t normally look outside our own ranks, but I see in you phenomenal potential. I would be failing my employer if I didn’t do all I could to make you a part of our organization. You have one month to decide. If I haven’t heard back from you by the end of March, the deal will be rescinded. Good luck, Captain.
“Oh, and one last thing. A show of good faith on our part. You ran a query on the Dresden Group some time back and never received anything on it. When Dresden folded, it defaulted on several loans and went into receivership with one of our members. Ultimately, we liquidated all its assets, but only after thorough review of said assets. I’m sure you can figure out where much of the probe data eventually went to?” Theroux’s image faded out.
Rimes closed his eyes and let out the breath he’d been holding. Ten times what I make. Education, security, a future for the boys, a future for Molly. No, not security. You serve the cartel only so long as it’s to their benefit. Just look at Theroux—no empathy, no soul. He’d fire me in a heartbeat if I showed mercy. Security—true security—is an illusion, a dream achieved only by a small minority in the senior ranks. But better security than we have today.
Rimes covered his face with his hands. He tried to calm himself, to breathe evenly. The message was too much, the perfect offer at the perfect moment. Despite the sense he would be part of
the military regardless of its decision about Plymouth, he was feeling bitter and abandoned. The Elite Response Force wouldn’t necessarily survive the cuts, nor would his mission, and without those, his loyalty was diminished and probably misplaced. He was meant for action, not bureaucracy. And yet, he knew the Army. It was what he’d done his entire adult life. The cartel….
“Delete message,” Rimes said. He sighed deeply. One year to make what he made in ten, a safer job, better respect for him and for his family—it was too easy. There were downsides and they would only become more obvious after he’d burned his bridges with the military. He couldn’t risk it.
What am I thinking? It’s not my decision to make alone. I can’t hide this from Molly. “Recover message.”
Rimes stood on trembling legs. His hands shook. He laughed at the absurdity. He could face a giant alien bug with relative calm, but in the face of a decision affecting his family he was a mess.
This is too big. I need Molly’s perspective. She’ll make the right call.
Rimes could feel it—things were only going to get more and more complicated for him. For everyone. He needed Molly. If humans were going to survive, they needed each other.
And even that might not be enough.
50
29 January, 2168. Plymouth Colony.
* * *
The parade ground was five hundred meters on either side. Sturdy holly framed it on all four sides, three-meter gaps offering easy entry at eight points. Flags—the US flag, the Plymouth flag, and the hastily produced UN flag—flapped loudly in the morning wind.
General Tyler V. Durban stood to Rimes's left, eyes locked on the backs of the troops he'd just released. Rimes couldn't make sense of General Durban's face: frozen, unblinking. He was a statue, with thinning silver hair, gray eyes, and sun-bronzed skin covering a blockish face. His executive officer—a chinless, middle-aged man who might be Arab or Indian or Iranian now wearing a US Army uniform—seemed anxious, staring from his perch on the crude parade stand Rimes had barely managed to procure from the local craftsmen. Beneath that stare, Rimes felt naked and inadequate.
“They took the speech well,” General Durban finally said. “Most people are frightened by change.”
Rimes cleared his throat. “I think the greatest reaction I saw was to your mention of the history of sacrifice of the soldier, sir.”
General Durban's eyebrows raised, as if it had never occurred to him that soldiers might be put off by a reminder of what was expected of them. “Our job is ultimately one of sacrifice. That's just how it is.”
“Of course, sir.” Rimes looked around, anxious for his time with the general to be over. “Would you like the tour—”
“Hm?” General Durban turned to face Rimes. “Tour? No.”
“I thought you—”
General Durban shook his head, slow, distant, but returning to the moment. He must have signaled the executive officer, because the other man slinked back from his perch. General Durban began walking; Rimes fell in, lagging a few centimeters.
After several steps, Durban shook his shoulders, as if that might shake away some terrible feeling. “I know this has been a miserable time for everyone, isolated out here in the middle of nowhere. Rumors and speculation must be flying like mad. How’re the troops holding up?”
“They’re soldiers, General. They’re hanging in there.”
General Durban squinted. “I read the reports on this planet, but it’s a damn sight hotter than I expected. It’s never quite enough for preparation—what you read and hear—is it?”
“No, sir.”
They walked in silence for a few steps more. “It’s all going to hell back home,” General Durban finally said. He came to a stop, fishing out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. “The UN is running everything, and the US is taking it in the ass because we dared to be the big dog for too long. Dissolving goddamn III Corps. We’ll be insignificant when it’s all said and done.”
A patient, understanding nod; Rimes wondered how he should feel. Sad? Angry? Frustrated? They’d been ready to send the acceptance message back to Theroux when news had come of General Durban’s surprise visit. A month in space to see the stillborn post? It left Rimes baffled.
General Durban dabbed at his reddened cheeks, then glared imperiously at the sun. For just a moment, Lieutenant Timothy Durban stood in his father’s place—the same posture, the same mannerisms, the same unmistakable, awkward charisma. “It’s a ten year plan. Combined Earth Military. That’s what the pencil necks are calling it. We’ll transition for a while after, but ten years from now, it’s all going to be radically different. You understand the scope and scale?”
“I’m sure I don’t, sir.” A combined military’s inevitable, but I couldn’t possibly guess what’s going on behind closed doors.
“Well here’s some insight, and keep in mind it’s insight no one should have yet. Fifty percent reductions across the board when it’s all said and done. For everyone. We’ll be dumping millions of people into the general economy, most of them with unmarketable skills. You think that’s nightmare enough? It’s the tip of the iceberg. We’re doing it at the same time the metacorporations are shutting down their operations on Earth.”
“The metacorporations, sir?” Rimes’s legs weakened. “What happened?”
“Exactly. What happened? The banks walking away with whatever they wanted all those years ago was the start. Throw in this new United Nations and a global military and you’ve got thousands of pissed off metacorporate executives. If this goes through, they lose the ability to play one nation against another, to sell weapons and drugs and who knows what the hell else to individual administrations. They sell to one buyer, they lose leverage. Hell, they lose profits.”
“So they’re just pulling up stakes?” That makes no sense. Who are they going to sell to? The colonies? That’s not enough.
“You make it sound like a bunch of spoiled brats.” General Durban laughed. “It ought to. They’re a bunch of petulant fucks. It’s been far too long with them getting everything they want. Good riddance. The Special Security Council may wield too much power for their own good, but something had to be done.”
Rimes looked around the compound, imagining it as it would have stood based off the concept videos. He’d already formed an irrational attachment to it. That’s nothing but fear of change. “Everything has to end eventually.”
General Durban grunted. He looked at the construction and shook his head. “I would’ve liked to have seen this as we envisioned. We threw it together fast, but with someone like you, I think it had a chance. Now?” He sighed. “We’re going to be asking a helluva lot from you, Captain. I can understand it if you turn us down. Turning out a company of what you envisioned in one year…?”
“I don't understand, sir. What did you have in mind?”
General Durban’s eyes went wide and Rimes realized there had been a breakdown in communications somewhere. “You haven’t…?” Durban recovered. “You’ve got a lot of allies on the Special Security Council, Captain Rimes, and you have a few on the Joint Chiefs. I want to thank you for what you did for Timothy. He deserved better than what he got, but thanks to you, he at least had a shot.”
“He was a good soldier, sir, a good officer.”
General Durban seemed to think about it for a moment, then he let out a grunt. “You’ve got three years to prove your concept. We’ll be doubling the size of the land purchase. I’m here to negotiate directly with the governor, see if we can’t knock down some barriers.”
Three years. They’re keeping us around. “Why double the size, sir?”
“We have budget limits. You’ll have to come up with ways to get folks to get along in tight quarters. I think you can pull it off. You’ve proven yourself resourceful before. You turn this battalion out on time, you’ll have a bright future ahead of you.”
“Battalion, sir?” Rimes hated repeating General Durban’s words, but they weren’t sinking
in. The repetition might help make them more real. Manpower cuts should have meant a smaller role, not a larger one.
“You’ll be the testing grounds here. We’ve got a platoon of Aussies and two platoons of Brits en route already. A platoon each from the Chinese, Germans, and Russians to follow. That’s the starting point. But once it’s all said and done, a battalion. International, and ultimately fully integrated—gear, training, command structure. And if you make it work, it’s going to be a brigade. Are you up for it?”
Rimes thought back to the weeks of silence and the strain it had put on Molly and on his soldiers. Even considering the uncertainty gripping Earth, it was hard to forgive. “How long ago did you reach this decision, sir?”
“That’s not a yes, Captain.” General Durban frowned. His brow wrinkled, channeling sweat down his hawk nose. “We’re offering you the chance of a lifetime.”
“So is someone else, sir.” Rimes was surprised by the sudden burst of frankness. It wasn’t like him. It’s Kwon.
General Durban’s frown deepened. “I see.” He thrust his jaw forward and sighed. “I’ve been authorized a good deal of leeway in making this happen. A lot of the old rules are no longer applicable as we transition to this new structure. We have options—titles, bonuses, even brevet rank, if needed.”
“I’m not sure those matter. I have people out here who’ve been living without a clue about their future for two months. I want to know how long you’ve known this was going to happen and didn’t bother to tell us, General.”
“You’re out of line, Captain.” General Durban seemed to bite back a full-on shout, but there was not stopping the color from reaching his face. He looked away for a moment, then he looked back, calmer. “You don’t realize how close this all came to falling apart. All of it. Did you notice the Indians aren’t sending anything? They resent the hell out of you. They wanted their man put in charge, and they damn near got it. And our grand history was thrown out the window with that goddamned coup attempt. Every pacifist in the world is screaming for an end to standing militaries, as if we’ll just wish away our enemies in the future. You turn me down, we’re either going to be stuck with some Gurkha major who’s never conducted an operation outside the subcontinent, or even worse, the pacifists are going to win out and we’re all out of a job. Might as well just hand the planet over to the genies.”
